


To Carry a Torch

by Bofursunboundbraids



Series: Doodles [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>So they sat like this for an unknown quantity of time, which was a delight in and of itself. Just sitting...quietly...idling away the minutes...hours...could've been days, really...warm, dry, safe, content, and in each other's excellent company...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Bilbo's eyes had just slid shut, heavy like the doors on a banker's vault, and he had just heard himself make a grunty little snore, when a voice, low and velvety smooth, was in his ear.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Come, Bilbo Baggins, I want to show you something."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Carry a Torch

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in honor of the release of _The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies Extended Edition_ which comes out today and officially closes the book on this thing that has colored my world (and the worlds of many others) for the past three years. Of course, one of the glories of fandom is that it isn't truly over until _we_ say it is. And I don't see that happening for quite some time.

There came a point during that evening when the revelries lost, not their joy, but their exuberance. The songs that had started out ribald and wickedly off-color, as great goblets of the king's best vintage were sloshed down grateful throats and onto the dust covered floor, had tamed considerably. There was not a dry eye amongst those gathered as a sweetly melancholic tune was played on a flute. A quiet serenity had settled over the company of Thorin Oakenshield like a warm blanket after many hours spent celebrating a fabulous victory with a few well-earned comforts. The dragon Smaug had been slain and enemies who had threatened the newly reclaimed mountain had been thwarted in their endeavors. The kingdom of Erebor was now safely in the hands of the rightful heir to its throne and promises of peace made with its allies. 

Bilbo Baggins, company burglar, sat before a great fire that burned on the massive hearth in the great hall and wiped a tear from his eye, wishing he knew the words to the song so he could join in with the few of his fellows who hadn't succumbed to wine-soaked slumber. He also wondered when it was that he had last felt this... _content_. The fire warmed his toes, his belly was full of as much wine as it was delicious and nourishing food, his pipe was packed and burning for his enjoyment, and the present company was truly without peer. He was happy. Despite everything; the deadly perils and multitudinous dangers that had thwarted their every step and the ever-present threat of a horrible death...despite all of this...the quest had been a success. The dragon was dead, the mountain won, and the king restored to his throne. Bilbo smiled into the merry blaze, recalling the rousing chorus of khuzdûl cheers Thorin, as king under the mountain, had lead to start off the celebration, his crown sitting on the table beside his plate instead of on his head. 

"There will be time for crowns later." Thorin had explained when the question had been raised. "I want nothing heavy about me, only a blessed good time."

Bilbo leaned back in the large chair he had pulled up to the fire and took a pull on his pipe. His cheeks tingled from the heat of the blaze and his eyes were struggling to stay open when he sensed a body standing over him. Cracking a heavy lid open, he looked to see who it was that was interrupting his bliss. 

"May I join you?" Thorin asked, his smile brilliant and his cheeks rouged ruby red by wine.

Bilbo sat up as quick as his euphorically sluggish body would allow and let loose an enormous yawn. "Excuse me...PLEASE! Please...be my guest."

"Ahhh..." Thorin chuckled as he pulled over another large, carved, wood chair, "I was your guest once. I never thanked you properly for that. For your kindness and generosity...for all of it, but I am going to make amends. It is my turn. You are _my_ guest now and I am going to take care of you, Master Burglar. In the manner you deserve."

Bilbo sat and puffed on his pipe, while watching Thorin pack his own, and wondered what _exactly_ he had meant by "take care of you" and "in the manner you deserve". He stuck a hairy foot out towards the fire. "If more of this," he waved his pointed toes at it, "and that" he pointed a finger behind him at the table covered in the remains of a beautiful joint and side dishes beyond counting, "Is what you have in mind," He picked up his goblet from the floor and held it out, "then I am honored, for it is more than any Baggins deserves." And he downed the last few swallows of wine.

Thorin pulled his pipe from between his teeth and laughed, heartily and out-loud, and Bilbo wondered if he had ever heard such a joyous, beautiful sound in his life. "You must not think much of your kin, my friend. You will indeed be honored. Just you wait and see." He stuck the pipe back in his mouth, lighting it with a lit splinter of wood. Leaning back, he took some deep puffs, the heady weed floating into every nook and joint of his being, untying the final knots the wine had been unable to touch. "Just you wait and see."

Bilbo resumed watching the dwarf settle into the comfortable chair; feet raised on a chunk of fallen granite, puffing away on his pipe, as if he were a South-Farthing Squire, relaxing after a day spent surveying his land on a fat, lazy pony. He also noticed that the years seemed to fall away from Thorin's face, leaving him looking younger, and, Bilbo had to admit to himself, more handsome than he had ever appeared before, which was saying quite a lot. Ever since Thorin Oakenshield had first crossed his threshold, he had thought him quite attractive, in a wild and unkempt sort of way, even if the dwarf that resided within seemed, at first, to be haughty and dismissive. 

So they sat like this for an unknown quantity of time, which was a delight in and of itself. Just sitting...quietly...idling away the minutes...hours...could've been days, really...warm, dry, safe, content, and in each other's excellent company...

Bilbo's eyes had just slid shut, heavy like the doors on a banker's vault, and he had just heard himself make a grunty little snore, when a voice, low and velvety smooth, was in his ear.

"Come, Bilbo Baggins, I want to show you something."

Once again, Bilbo lifted his eyelids, just enough to allow him to see that Thorin was directly in front of him and so close that the tips of their noses brushed once...twice...

Bilbo pulled back so as to focus on the dwarf leaning over him, hands on the arms of his chair, effectively caging him in. "What are you going on about?" He asked, growing cranky at being awakened from what had been promising to be one glorious snooze.

"Come," a large hand bearing thick, ring-bedecked fingers flooded his field of vision. "Take my hand."

"Of course, but," Bilbo's hand was swallowed up by Thorin's and he was pulled out of his chair and onto unsteady feet and he found himself falling against his friend. "I was just about to have the most wonderful dream," he said, pushing against a pillar of flesh, blood, and bone in order to stand upright. "It involved a feather bed made of books and next to it was an oven full of baking bread."

Thorin laughed and that glorious sound reverberated about the walls and ceiling like the ringing of numerous bells, as if the mountain halls had been carved for that very purpose. "I promise," He grabbed a lonely torch from the wall and lit it, "You will be returned to your dreams soon enough, but first, there is something I must show you." Retaking Bilbo's hand in his, he lead him away from the fire, and the chair, and the company as well, left deep in their cups and falling fast asleep.

It was a dark path they followed, only made as wide as the torch in Thorin's hand would allow. And it was cold. A shiver in Bilbo's limbs moved him, subconsciously, towards the warmth that radiated from the one beside him. Thorin looked down at the curly head.

"You are cold."

"Hmmm? Oh," Bilbo shook his head, "it's just a bit of a chill. Probably brought on from sitting too close to that fire back there. I'm sure the walk will warm me soon enough."

"This will not do," Thorin laid the torch on the stone floor and reached for Bilbo's other hand. "Your hands are cold. That will just not do." He brought both hands to his mouth and blew hot breath on them and the chilled skin tingled, as if being pricked by many heated needles. But it was not unpleasant. Not in the slightest. 

Bilbo looked up at Thorin, lit from beneath by the torch on the ground, his face a fascinating map of golden skin and dark shadows and two gleaming, sapphire eyes. His heart skipped along in a frenetic dance. "Thank you." He said, knowing he was grinning much too broadly, showing much more than he was ready to share, blast that heady wine! "I'm much warmer already." 

Thorin briefly touched his lips to Bilbo's curled fingers, shooting a lightning bolt through his burglar's body, before letting them go. He took up the torch and again clasped the small hand, but this time with fingers entwined. "We are almost there. It's not much further, I promise." Bilbo could only nod, his voice stolen by the sensation of those thick fingers, in-between his own...spreading them apart...

They came to a stop before a wide set of stairs, the top of which was above them, enshrouded in darkness, far beyond the light of the torch. Thorin pulled Bilbo in front of him and wrapped a protective arm around his chest. Bilbo could hear, and feel, the king's heart beat, strong and steady, against the back of his head. 

"Take care where you step." Thorin whispered in his ear. "These stairs have not been fully cleared and I would not see you harmed. I will be right behind you." The arm about him tightened, "I will not let you fall.". 

Bilbo nodded, assessing the stairs before him with eyes that had become accustomed to the extreme dark, deep inside the mountain, and he could see the chunks of rubble that littered the steps as well as the places where stone had cracked and fallen away. "I know, Thorin." He said, his hands gripping the arm that held him, tight. "You never have before." He lifted a foot and, with Thorin's hand, steady and sure, on his shoulder and the torch held up above their heads, Bilbo took the first step of many; up, up, up into the darkness.

At last, and with no mischance or missteps, another level and a broad, dusty floor was revealed. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Bilbo looked about at what he could see. Here, veins of gold glimmered, embedded in the walls and the carvings that decorated nearly every surface were far more elaborate than what he had already seen in other parts of the mountain. "Where are we, Thorin?" He asked, but the dwarf was already moving away, towards a tall set of doors set within a gilded arch that also sparkled with gems.

Thorin stopped and looked back, waiting for Bilbo to trot over to him on furry feet. "We are here, Bilbo. This is what I want to show you." Grasping a large, wrought iron latch, he pulled. And the door swung open with surprising ease, on silent hinges. And a gust of cold air came out to meet them.

Bilbo shivered. "What is this p-p-place?" He asked, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. He stepped in, cautiously, as Thorin disappeared, running with his torch held high, into the darkness.

"This, my esteemed Master Burglar Baggins," Thorin shouted, waving the torch about, "is all for you!" And, sweeping the torch in a low arc, the flame ignited the wood that had been left in preparation for this very moment. A magnificent blaze erupted on the massive hearth and it illuminated the most spectacular chamber Bilbo had yet to witness in the mountain kingdom.

"For me? Thorin, what is this place?" Bilbo asked, not understanding as he moved towards the new source of heat while his tired eyes tried to take in every sparkle of gem and glint of gold; in the walls, the ceiling, the floor...

"This," Thorin threw the torch onto the fire and walked about, his arms raised up to the glory all about them, "is the chamber of Thrór, the last King Under the Mountain...my grandfather..." He noticed that Bilbo was now directly before the fire, vigorously warming his backside, and ran to him. He gathered small, fire-warmed hands in his. "My grandfather, Bilbo." He placed gentle kisses on still scabbed-over knuckles. "And now it is yours for you...YOU...my...my dearest hobbit...are the hero of Erebor."

"The...what? Excuse me, but I don't think I got that last bit." Bilbo sputtered, tearing his eyes away from his knuckles that tingled from kisses. "How am I the Hero of Erebor?"

"This mountain," Thorin said, looking deep into Bilbo's eyes, "would never have been reclaimed if it had not been for you."

Bilbo shook his head, trying to escape the hypnotic depth of Thorin's eyes. "Well, that's just pure nonsense now, isn't it?"

"No."

Bilbo reluctantly pulled his hands out of Thorin's grasp. "I am not the bloody... _Hero of Erebor_! I feel ridiculous even saying it! I am nothing more than a member of this company," Bilbo poked Thorin in the chest, "Your company, remember? I'm the burglar, the fourteenth man..." Thorin claimed that pokey finger's attached hand and pressed the palm against his chest. There was that blasted beating heart again! "I...I even...I have a little piece of paper that says so, Thorin. Besides, what would the folks back home say about all of this? 'Lookit old mad Baggins has run off into the blue and now fancies himself a king!' I thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, for this grand gesture but I'm afraid this is all much too grand for the likes of me. I am sorry, but you've got the wrong hobbit." He slid his hand out from under Thorin's and began to walk away from the fire, away from him.

"And," Thorin called out, his voice strong and deep. and it bounced about the walls, seeming to come from everywhere at once, stopping Bilbo in his tracks, "I would tell them that they are wrong; it is the _king_ who fancies Master Baggins. And he is far from mad, both of them. Besides, what is it to a bunch of silly gossips who know nothing but their own envy?"

Bilbo turned around as Thorin spoke, his heart pounding in his chest and those words swirling around in his head. He had suspected that Thorin held feelings for him beyond those of friendship, and he had hoped...and wished...and dreamt...

"You fancy me?" Bilbo asked, pressing a hand to his thumping heart.

"Aye," Thorin nodded, humbly. "I do." 

Bilbo looked at him, and, with edges gilt with the flame of the fire behind him, Thorin was magnificent! The beauty of the room paled away to nothing compared to him. The very last thing Bilbo wanted to do was to leave him.

"I'm not a hero." He whispered as he returned to the dwarf, feeling the fear that comes with knowing there is no turning back.

"If it hadn't been for you," Thorin met him halfway, a gentle smile on his lips and in his eyes, "we would still be in that elf's infernal dungeon," He brushed his fingers through Bilbo's hair, "or worse."

Bilbo couldn't help but close his eyes with the bliss that poured through his body at the sensation of Thorin's thick, calloused fingers dragging across his scalp. He let loose a loud sigh and he could hear Thorin chuckle. "But where will you sleep?" He managed to eke out.

"I will take up my old room. It is just down the hall." Thorin said, softly, his thumb gliding gently across the downy surface of Bilbo's cheek.

"But," Bilbo opened his eyes and they glistened like emeralds. "That's so far away."

"Where would you have me sleep?" Thorin bent his head down only to meet Bilbo coming up and the softest lips were touching his, moving over his, kissing his. Arms slid around his neck and he wrapped his around the body of his one true love, pulling him in and close. And then he lifted Bilbo up into his arms and off to the bed he carried him, and the kisses did not stop.

As gently as if his darling had been made of porcelain, Thorin laid Bilbo down on the bed he had had prepared. Gone was the dust of near two centuries and all had been beaten and plumped, as well-preserved in the dry cold of the mountain as could be hoped. And at almost the moment that Bilbo's body touched the bed, it begged to surrender to sleep. A loud thump and clatter on the stone floor made him open eyes he hadn't realized had closed. It was nothing more than the sound of Thorin's boots being tossed from where he sat on the edge of the bed. And then Thorin was climbing on the bed, on his hands and knees, coming closer.

"You didn't answer my question, my little one." Thorin said, sitting astride Bilbo's legs.

"What question was that?" Bilbo asked as he fought to stifle a yawn, "I can't seem to recall. And I'm not little, you... _uncouth_ thing." Bilbo feigned a grump, his eyes closing shut again.

"Where would you have me sleep?" Thorin asked again, chuckling, as he leaned in and nuzzled Bilbo's jaw. 

Bilbo laughed as the whiskers tickled his face, "With me, please! With..." He opened his eyes and, grabbing ahold of Thorin's ears he held the dwarf's head still. "Blast it all! Thorin Oakenshield, will you please sleep with me?"

"Yes," Thorin planted a solid kiss on Bilbo's mouth. "Yes, I will sleep with you, Bilbo Baggins. Tonight and every night that you will have me." Sitting up, he undid the gold and ebony raven belt, tossed it away, and then pulled off the layers of shirts and tunics until he sat, bare chested, on his love's knees. And he sat there. Waiting.

Bilbo let out a little snort of a snore followed by an adorable wiggling of his nose. Thorin's soft laughter woke him. "What's so funny?" He asked, followed by a wide yawn.

Thorin laid a hand on Bilbo's stomach where it was quickly covered up by two smaller hands, greedy hands. "I did not anticipate losing you to another lover."

"Huh?" Bilbo struggled to sit up, troubled. Another lover? There was no other... "Who?" He asked, utterly confused.

"Slumber is an enticing mistress." Thorin whispered, as he leaned in to brush a kiss against a precious temple.

"Oh..." Bilbo nodded, relieved and relishing the warm breath on his face...in his hair. "I don't know about that. Never really had much - _YAWN_! - oh...excuse me! No, I've never had much time for mistresses. No matter how enticing." And nothing could be more enticing, his sleepy brain thought, at that moment, than the glorious sensation of his fingers running through the luxurious pelt that covered Thorin's chest. He yawned again. "Forgive me! Oh, Thorin...I'm so very sorry...this isn't how I imagined _we_ would happen."

"You've imagined that we would..."

"Yes!" Bilbo blurted, blushing furiously. "I have...of course I have. Oh," He patted the furry chest, "yes I have...but now...I'm not entirely sure we should be doing this... _NOW_! I don't think we should be doing this now." He fell back, his body sinking into the bed, "I think I may still be a little drunk." A head joined his on the pillow.

"And I am a little drunk as well," Thorin brushed the hair away from Bilbo's ear and licked the tip, eliciting a giggle and a delicious _sigh_. "Come," he said, sitting up and holding out his hand, "Up."

"Why?" Bilbo asked with the teeniest smile hiding in plain sight on his lips.

"I am going to help you prepare for bed."

Bilbo snuggled down, "But I'm already in bed."

"Naughty," Thorin teased as he undid the belt that held Bilbo's jacket closed. He pulled it out from underneath the hobbit's sleepy body and tossed it to join the rest of the discarded clothing. Pushing aside the supple, fur lined leather, he admired the workmanship that had created the mithril mail, made even more beautiful by the life it protected. But no matter how beautiful, there was no need for Bilbo to sleep in it. Not anymore. He slid his hand underneath the silky mail. "Help me skin this plump bunny." 

Bilbo laughed. "Well, if you're going to put it _that_ way." He sat up, letting his arms slip out of the sleeves of his dwarven jacket and, raising them over his head like a dutiful child, he grumbled, "I am not half as plump as I should be, though. Can hardly call myself a proper hobbit anymore... _Ooof!_ " And the mithril was pulled up, over his head, but instead of tossing it, Thorin laid it down gently, near the far edge of the bed. Then, he proceeded to unbutton Bilbo's shirt.

"Not a hobbit? That won't do! I will have to remedy that, won't I?" Thorin yanked Bilbo's shirt tails from his trousers. "You will be fat," He pushed the shirt back, off of small, pale shoulders dotted with freckles. "And happy," He wadded the shirt up and tossed it away. "And loved." He pressed Bilbo back onto the bed and hovered over him, looking down at the pretty body that wriggled beneath. "Are you cold, my darling?"

Bilbo nodded and caramel curls flopped about his face. "Mmmm hmmmm." He hummed as he slid his hands up and over the muscles in Thorin's back. Digging is nails in only made the dwarf arch and "ahhhh". 

"I will warm you, my heart's greatest joy. And I think I shall start here," Thorin kissed Bilbo's lips that were as soft as the rose petals they resembled. "And then I shall warm this dimpled chin - _kiss_ \- and then this sweet and tender throat..." Thorin left a trail of heated kisses...and wet, from lips, tongue, and teeth...on Bilbo's skin, taking his time to move from the precious face to a round shoulder to a chest with its scattering of fine, blonde hairs. He nudged at a pert nipple the color of a ripe berry with the tip of his nose before plucking at it with his thick fingers. 

"Ow!" Bilbo squealed, batting the offending fingers away. "What are you playing at?" He managed to say through the giggles. He reached down between them and did his own plucking. But, instead of a cry of pain, Thorin moaned, low in his throat and the sound made Bilbo's blood run hot. 

"Did I hurt you?" Thorin asked, before blowing a warm gust of breath across the wounded nipple. He then gave it a lick with the flat of his wide, velvet tongue, and a kiss. Bilbo shook his head.

"No." He uttered and it was really nothing more than a sigh.

"I am glad," Thorin mouthed those words onto the tender surface of Bilbo's belly, "I would never hurt you, my dearest. Never." And, with Bilbo's torso cradled in his hands, he honored his most cherished friend-turned-lover with the slowest, most languid of kisses, with a few delicate nips here and there. He tickled the adorable navel with his tongue which caused Bilbo to giggle merrily and writhe underneath him. And Thorin felt, pressed against his chest, the evidence of his love's pleasure. He followed the path of pale belly hairs down, down...below the waist of Bilbo's trousers. He could make out the swelling under the fabric and he ached to touch him, stroke him, devour him! Oh, what pleasure he would bring him...his greatest treasure...his one true love...

*  
*  
*  
*  
"Thorin? 

silence

"Thorin? Are you asleep?" 

This time Bilbo was answered, but not with a "yes" or a "no". No, it sounded more like someone attempting to split a log of petrified wood with a saw equipped with a blade made of gravel. He lifted his head from the pillow and watched, with a swelling warmth in his chest, the rare delight that was Thorin Oakenshield, the King Under the Mountain, fast asleep and snoring loud enough to wake every soul in Dale. And his pillow was a pleased hobbit's bare stomach. Reaching out with ginger fingers, Bilbo brushed long strands of iron grey hair away from the precious, sleeping face. Thorin shifted, slightly, and pulled his hands in, sliding them beneath Bilbo's back. He hummed contentedly and Bilbo buried a hand under the silken waves that flowed like water across Thorin's upper back. 

"Love? Wouldn't you rather have an actual pillow?" Bilbo asked, his voice low and soft. Thorin lifted his head just high enough that he could rub his face against sensitive tummy flesh before laying it back down. 

"No," Thorin murmured, quickly slipping back into sleep.

Bilbo smiled to himself, to the gaudy, gilded room, to the whole world. He would be Thorin's pillow, happily, for as long as need be. The dwarf had earned this rest. They both had. After all they had been through; the danger, the peril, the fear, and all of the uncertainty they were finally _here_. Bilbo laid his head back down on the pillow and within seconds his breathing was one, in unison, with Thorin's, rising and falling together, as they had in almost everything since that spring night a life-time ago. They were finally home.

And what joy it was to find that the bed was made of books and the smell of baking bread was everywhere!

**Author's Note:**

> One of the questions I've been playing around with ever since I started shipping Bilbo and Thorin (roughly two and half years, now) is how they, having survived the Battle of the Five Armies (because honestly! We all know Thorin and the boys live!) would've come together romantically. I've played with practically every possible scenario and the one that seemed most true is the one that remembers that, first and foremost, they are two middle-aged men who have been through a lot. Being middle-aged myself, I know that finally coming together with a love would definitely be near the top of the to-do list, but sometimes you just gotta have a nap first.


End file.
